


Hey Jude

by deansscruffyangel



Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst Dean Winchester, Angst Sam Winchester, Castiel Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Protective Sam Winchester, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deansscruffyangel/pseuds/deansscruffyangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time is short for Dean Winchester, a little too short for the angel to handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Jude

_Mortality rate_

That’s the first few words that Castiel is able to make sense of.

_Inoperable. Options. Arrangements_

Everything that follows is a blur.

He is numb.

Castiel stands in the back of the small, cramped neurosurgeons office as Dean and Sam sit across from a very serious looking doctor. The room is cluttered; books line the dusty shelves and pleasant pictures of faraway places, much better than the bland landscape surrounding them, are plastered on the walls in an attempt to lessen the blow of what they’re about to hear.

“Look…” the doctor tries to explain again “Sometimes, things like this just happen. If you need anything; anything to help you cope, we have counselors available”. Dean scowls; he looks angry, furious even.

Dean looked incredibly tiny sitting next to Sam in the small office. Dean looked so worn down and tired, he was obviously in a lot of pain; continually squinting and squeezing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need a Goddamned counselor” he spits at the man, sneering as he says it. Dean’s knuckles turn a from pink to white as he grips the edge of his chair.

“Sammy” he says turning towards his brother “Let’s get the hell out of here”. They get up to leave then, the doctor shooting Sam a concerned look that’s riddled with sympathy. A look that Castiel is sure Dean wouldn’t approve of.

It had been months since the first headaches had started; at first Dean had associated them with stress, maybe even the drinking, but as time went on and they intensified; he began to fear the worse. Soon his vision began to blur, and as time passed he became a stumbling mess, some days he was barely even able to walk.

Sam had finally convinced him to see a doctor ; a decision he was sure Dean regretted, but Dean didn’t have time for regret. Now Dean had a time limit.

“How long?” Sam had choked out earlier, looking incredibly small as he sat next to his big brother. The doctor had looked between the two of them, measuring what he was about to say.

“A month, maybe more…”

Castiel could still feel the sudden intake of breath Sam took, clenching his fists as he gripped the sides of his chair; no doubt bracing himself, trying to muster what dwindling strength he had left.

“It’s so hard to tell with situations like this” The doctor began, growing more cautious with his words “Tumors like this tend to be unpredictable—” There it was, Castiel thought; out in the open. Sam turned away suddenly, trying to gain his composure. Dean had said nothing, only looked out the window, watching as people walked past the tiny office. To his surprise, the world was still turning.

_One month_

Sam had played big brother, of course, asking the doctor all the real questions. “How much pain can we expect? What can we do to manage it? What kind of symptoms?”.

The doctor sat there for some time, glancing momentarily at Dean, and then directly speaking to him. “Your headaches will get worse, and increase in intensity. Your vision will begin to go, which I’m sure has already begun. You'll begin to experience aphasia and difficulty speaking, soon losing the ability all together. Your balance will be affected, and soon you won't be able to walk or stand. Your cognitive processes will be impaired and your nausea, vertigo, pain and muscle weakness will increase as well. Eventually—” he stopped, looking down at his hands “You will lose consciousness.” He said glancing at Sam again, and then back to Dean.“We can manage this though—” he was cut off suddenly by the sound of Dean laughing. The kind of laughter that was riddled with pain, and twisted disgust.

Sam had shot him a look; a heavy look that was full of sorrow and hollow ache. He pleaded for Dean to understand; practically begging Dean to let him help; to let Sam take away his pain for once. It hadn’t been enough of course; Dean continued to stare out the window, pretending to give a damn about the people outside living their apple pie life.

 

 

                                                                                                       

* * *

 

 

They rode most of the way home in silence, the sound of the Impala rumbling beneath them.

“Dean—”, Sam had tried to say, reaching out towards his brother, hoping to feel his warmth and comfort close by, but Dean brushed him away; wanting nothing to do with his comfort or pity.

“Dean, please” Sam pleaded; biting back tears “Not this time, okay—” he said quietly. More silence stretched out between the two boys, leaving the Impala tense and stuffy.  

“Please” Dean said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper; both eyes pressed tightly closed together. “Not you too—” he had turned to Sam then, a pleading look in his eyes “No pity Sammy, not from you. Can you do that; for me?” he practically begged him. “Cause I just can’t anymore.” He paused again, taking in what he was saying, almost as if he couldn't bare the words tumbling helplessly from his mouth.  

“I’m sick of hospitals, and getting pricked with needles, and stuck with wires. Hell, I can’t even drive my baby anymore!” he said gesturing around himself.

“It’s over, Sam.” He said after another long pause; sealing the deal.

It sounded final coming from Dean’s mouth, and it was somewhat relieving hearing him say it. Hearing him admit it aloud.  Almost as if just by Dean speaking it aloud-it made it concrete and tangible.  

The phrase hung there for a moment, almost as if Dean was trying it on for size.

Death; something Dean was all too familiar with, Castiel was sure of that, but not this type of death. This death was slow, brittle; it would take everything that Dean was, everything he had ever been, and it would twist him into something completely unrecognizable. Tear down the man that Castiel once leaned so heavily on.

The Impala suddenly felt incredibly tight and small around Castiel. They didn’t know he was there of course; they never knew at all.

 

                                                                                                               

* * *

 

 

 Years had passed since heaven had cast Castiel out; sealing him from his heavenly powers, and striping him from his ranks among them.

There explanation had been quick and exact: Dean Winchester.

Castiel had fallen, giving everything he had for Dean; and then he took all of it away, becoming what he thought was the new ‘Savior’, but only tearing the world apart even more. Lastly, Castiel had betrayed Dean’s trust a final time, spying on them for heaven, and losing the only tangible thing the angel had ever had.

Castiel had been deserted by everything that had ever mattered to him; but then again, had he exactly been deserted, or had he turned away from it willingly?

It didn’t exactly take a fool to see that what Dean and Castiel shared was more than just a ‘profound bond’; they did indeed have a deeper connection, that if addressed, they both would just casually shrug it off. It certainly was a curious case; Dean and him.

They had not parted as friends. Castiel can still recall the dismissive way at which Dean had addressed him that lonely night. He had told him to leave; throwing away every moment between the hunter and the angel. Castiel had obliged of course; keeping his distance from the Winchesters, but he never really left. Not really.

He supposed that it was all that happened between the two of them, but then again, Dean’s lack of effective communication typically made this difficult to comprehend. They had been through much together, Dean and him, but Castiel always thought they’d go through much more together. Their parting always gave Castiel a feeling, if that’s what you could call it, that they missed out on something: something bigger.

The angel began to feel that his relationship with Dean was riddled with wasted time, and hollow promises.

Castiel had spent the majority of his time alone following the Winchester’s, insuring that no harm, too grave, fell upon them. The past five years had been filled with hunt after hunt, and its fair share of tacky motel rooms and Chinese take-out. So then again, Castiel couldn’t really say it had been wasted time, could he?

 

                                                                                                                                                    

* * *

 

 

 

The boys finally arrived to a place that they called their home; although Castiel would refer to it as another dank motel room full of inequity and beer.

The boys were quiet; barely even breathing. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, wrinkling his forehead as he started out the window. He was in pain; and Castiel new the look all too well. Sam must of caught on because soon he was pressing a bottle of pills into his brothers hand

“Take these” he ordered Dean “The doctor said—”

“Do you think I fucking care what that goddamned doctor said, Sam” Dean spat at his younger brother.

Sam recoiled in an instant, almost as if he had been slapped.

“I’m not a goddamn child. I can take care of myself!” Dean yelled, his anger rising onto the surface. “Just leave me alone—” he said, breaking his sentence off, as if he couldn’t bear to finish it. Dean thought he had won of course, but Sam was there suddenly, grabbing Dean’s shoulder and turning him to face him head on.

“No” Sam said to Dean, a rebellious look in his eye “You’re not doing this; you’re not throwing around this ‘stoic hero’ bullshit Dean, I can see right through it!” Dean laughed, a deep bitter laugh that sent, what Castiel would refer to as chills down his body.

This laugh was inhuman, and twisted; a laugh laced with resentment and sickened furry. Dean was angry he was dying; it was clear as day to Castiel.

“You know what Sam? I’m so fucking tired; don’t you get that? Maybe it’s time to wake up and smell the roses! I’ve died, or well—almost died, what—5 to 6 times in the past 15 years?” Dean paused then, taking a deep breath “I’m done, Sammy; this is over” he gestured around himself then “The sooner you accept that, and let me die in peace, the better”.

Sam looked at Dean for a long time, disbelief and a mixture of distress crossing his face for a brief moment “I’m not going to let you die, period.” He muttered.

“Yeah—well” Dean said, dismissing Sam entirely “You’ve said that a time or two haven’t you?”

This was absolute.

Dean stood up after a moment, slightly losing his balance before Sam rushed over to him; slipping an arm around his brother’s waist and holding him steady. Dean tried to pull away, but upon realizing he needed his brother’s help, leaned into his tight grip.

“I just need to use the restroom, Sam. It’s not a goddamned emergency.” he stole a glance at his younger brother, letting him take half of his weight.

He could never stay mad at Sam for very long.

 _Dammit_.

“I’m so sorry Sammy” Dean whispered into his brother’s hair as he leaned into his hold. Sam’s face crumples a bit, but he recovers it quickly; filing the emotion away for a later date.

“Don’t” Sam said, stopping Dean “It never happened”.

 

                                                                                                                                                        

* * *

 

 

The boys took each new day in strides; short and slow at first, but with each passing day, they seemed to settle into a comfortable pace. Even though Dean hated it, Sam spent the majority of his time online, no doubt researching faith healers and other superstitious bullshit, which was Dean’s interpretation of it.  Castiel, of course, spent most of his time here; ever watchful.

“Give it a rest, Sammy” Dean said one evening, resting in his bed. It had been one week since the diagnoses loomed its dark shadow over the two boys. “You’re going to miss the new episode of Dr. Sexy M.D” Dean had said, a cheekish smile playing across his lips.

“Dean” Sam sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose “How can you just sit there, and….give up?”. Sam looked exhausted, Castiel thought; dark circles playing under his eyes from a lack of sleep.  Sam worked around the clock trying to save his older brother.  He would never really give up on him, not matter how often Dean begged and pleaded, no matter how Dean yelled or screamed, Sam would simply just never let his brother die.  

Dean picked up the remote and turned the T.V. off in one fluid motion. Silence falling abruptly between them. “I’m not ‘giving up’ Sammy, okay? I’m just—” he trailed off. “—not fighting this. Can we do that Sam; for once? Just not fight this—”.

Dean’s health had been steady; although it wasn’t getting any better. He wasn’t sleeping much these days; he didn’t find much need for it. Dean wore dark circles under his eyes, and his skin seemed gaunt and pail. His headaches had definitely intensified; rendering even the hint of light excruciatingly painful for him, and making him nauseous around the clock. Dean could barely keep down a piece of pie, let alone a full meal; his clothes starting to slack on his framed body.

“I’m not letting you die Dean, okay. It’s not going to happen!” Sam flipped his laptop shut then, turning his gaze to his brother.

"What's the use" Dean whispered, running his hand over his slimmed, pale face.  

"What's the use? Are you kidding me Dean?"  Sam's breath hitched, finding difficultly with what Dean was saying.  

“Sammy—”

“How dare you, Dean.  How dare you just roll over and give up on everything that we’ve done—everything we’ve worked so hard for.”

“Sam, you don’t—”

Sam shook his head, tears burning the corners of his eyes.  He strained himself, searching his older brother’s face for a small glimpse of hope and assurance.  Maybe Dean would fight with him—maybe Dean would cave and give up his childish act. 

Of course Castiel hoped.  He hoped with every fiber of his body that Dean would give-in and work towards a solution, but Castiel knew Dean all too well—he knew how stubborn he was never willing to allow anyone to pity or help him, even when he needed it, he even knew the man’s self-loathing and doubt that often loomed over him like a dark cloud, and lastly, he knew Dean was just plain tired. 

“How dare you leave me, Dean” Sam whispered, silent tears streaking down his face.  “How could you—”

“You think I want this, Sam? Huh? You think I want to die?”  Dean spat, his anger boiling over the edges “You think I’m not pissed!”  Dean clinched his fists at his side, his head pounding as his anger spilled from his skin.

“I don’t deserve this Sam!  I didn’t deserve it before, and I sure as hell don’t deserve it now!” Dean was yelling now, his skin white hot and burning. 

Of course Dean was angry; he had every right to be.  Dean Winchester didn’t deserve a fate such as this—a slow agonizing death, one striping him of everything he held dear; pulling away at the wall he had so carefully built around himself over his lifetime. 

Sam opened his mouth, and shut it quickly, deciding that whatever he was going to say was better left unsaid. 

The boys were quiet for some time after that, letting the moment drift between the two of them.  Sam had gone back to his laptop, squinting and straining over the small text on the screen, but Dean had just sat there, closing his eyes and soaking up the silence entirely. 

Castiel moved closer to him, wanting nothing more than to catch a small scent of him—something to hold close when all this was over.    

“There aren’t many options-" Sam began, moving close to Dean and sitting across him him on the other bed "-but we aren’t completely out of time” he said quietly, a brief flash of hope crossing his face, disappearing quickly.

Dean groaned “Sammy” he warned, pinching the bridge of his nose “Can it.”

Sam threw Dean, what he would refer to as a ‘bitch’ look, and continued despite his brother's pleas “I’ve found a couple of faith healers that seem promising; I mean, it worked last time right?”

“Yeah” Dean laughed, the memory flooding back to him “That was a bucket of joy” he said, smiling to himself

“They’re a little more up north though, a couple days’ time if we pace ourselves” Sam shot Dean another hopeful look.

“Pass” was Dean’s only rebuttal.

“Okay, well—” Sam trailed off, looking down towards his feet. Castiel wondered what Sam found so interesting about his shoes.

“We could always, ya know…call Cas?” Castiel froze suddenly, hearing his name hang in the air, leaving a bitter trail behind it. Dean’s soft look turned hard and distant; he sat there for a moment, possibly rolling the suggestion over in his mind.

“No” he said briskly, turning from Sam; hiding his expression “We aren’t calling anybody”, Dean said, skipping around the angels name entirely.

Castiel would imagine that he should feel hurt, being cast out by his friends; but did the angel ever really feel anything?

“Dean—” Sam began.

“Did I stutter” Dean said quietly, almost growling. “I’m not calling Castiel, and I swear to God, if you do” Dean turned to Sam suddenly; fury blinding his features “I’ll kick your ass, if it’s the last thing I do on this Godforsaken rock”.

Castiel didn’t really know exactly how the conversation had ended; he was gone from the room before he could witness it himself. The angel’s wings spreading out behind him as he took flight, leaving all the ache and rage behind.

 

                                                                                                                                                   

* * *

 

 

The moment Castiel had returned to the small motel; the moment he regretted it.

It had been only four days before the angel had built up the courage to casually slip soundlessly back into their room. It had only taken four days for Dean to become something completely unrecognizable.

Dean had buried himself in a heap of blankets and pillows on his tiny bed; trying to block out all the light that he could. Sam hovered nervously over his brother, scared of disturbing him, but worried about him all the same.

“Dean” Sam whispered, nudging the blankets slightly, trying to rouse his brother from his light sleep. “We need to leave, Dean”.

Castiel looked around the small room, not surprised to see that the boys had completely packed everything up. The angel wondered where they were going.

“Dean” Sam said more frantically, nudging the lump harder and with more force. What arose from the blankets took Castiel’s breath away, even though the angel didn’t technically breathe.

Dean was pale and ghostly white; the dark circles under his eyes bright in contrast to his light skin. He had lost more weight, Castiel thought to himself, even though the hunter didn’t have much to lose.  His once thick and lean body a mere shell of it's former glory. He had difficulty maneuvering through the sea of blankets, his arms tired and flimsy at his sides.

Sam reached out, taking hold of his brother’s hand, and lifting him from his bed. Dean tensed, letting a small whimper escape his thin lips.

Castiel had never experienced pain first hand, but with the sound that came from Dean, he was glad he never had.

Dean staggered out of bed, struggling to find his legs and hold himself upright. Sam was there, however, practically carrying Dean across the room. They shuffled out the door then, heading out into the overwhelming light. Once Sam was satisfied with Dean laying in the back seat of the Impala, a notion that Castiel was sure that Dean argued, he shuffled back inside, packing the rest of their belongings in the trunk of the Impala.

 

                                                                                                                                                     

* * *

 

 

Castiel sat up front this time, something he didn’t get to experience very often. The only noise was the Impala engine beneath the angel, and the sound of Sam humming impulsively to himself.

Dean was asleep in the back, if you could call it that. This sleep was light and fitful; full of rancid dreams. Dean tossed around in the back, whimpering into the light blanket that was draped over him for warmth.

Castiel cursed himself; how could he have left Dean? _This was his fault_.

They arrived at the small rickety cabin several hours later, Castiel remembering it all too well. He hated this place, but figured it was the best place for Dean to be with all that was happening. Familiarity was best for him, wasn’t it?

Things went by quickly for the next two days. Dean slept most of the time, and Sam continued to burry himself in his laptop; looking through page after page of articles. Castiel seemed to settle into a feeling of normalcy here; not allowing the situation to get underneath his skin.

After two days had passed with nothing new presenting itself, Sam went to Dean again; hopeful once more.

“Dean” Sam had tried, sitting besides his brother, and laying a hand on his thin shoulder “We have to do something—” he said gesturing to his older brother.

“Shut up Sammy” Dean hissed, rolling himself into a cocoon of blankets again, burrying himself further into it (if that were even possible).

“I’m going to do it, Dean. I’m going to call Cas” Sam said, getting up from the bed, confidence rolling off of him.

“Don’t you fucking dare” Dean spat at him.

“I’d like to see you stop me” Sam said, not paying attention to his brother’s temper. Castiel felt trapped in the tiny room, knowing that if he left again, he’d miss Dean; letting moments he couldn’t get back slip between his fingers.

“I don’t want him here!” Dean screamed, straining his voice “Goddammit Sam! Leave it the fuck alone!” Sam had been defeated once more, and he gathered himself, and briskly walked out of the room; leaving the heap of blankets behind.

 

                                                                                                                                                           

* * *

 

 

Sam staggered out into the crisp night, no doubt needing the fresh air. He wandered away slightly, but not putting too much distance between him and the small cabin. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears at bay a little longer. His attempt was rendered moot, as the walls that Sam tried so desperately to hold up came crashing down.

He wept then, his whole body shuddering as he did so. Castiel wished he could comfort the man; wrap his arms around him and hold him there. The angel stood perfect still.

“How could you” Sam said silently, not to anybody directly. Castiel knew.

“How fucking could you!” Sam screamed out into the darkness “I know you’re listening you goddamned coward!” he spun around viciously, frantically searching the dark woods.

“He’s dying. He’s dying, and you’re just going to let him!” Sam wiped furiously at his face, clearing his blurred vision. The tears kept racing. “How could you Castiel”.

It was like a knife slashing viciously at the angel’s grace. He felt like a coward; like a goddamned soulless heap of nothing. He wished he could end it, somehow take Dean and Sam’s pain from them, but he could only watch in horror as both men were stripped of everything they ever loved.

Sam’s breath evened out eventually, allowing himself to calm slightly. “I don’t care what happened” Sam began “I don’t care about any of it. Please, Cas” Sam pleaded; begging for his brother’s life

“I need you, and if you care about Dean like I know you do; you’d be here. You’d be here right next to him” he looked down, silently wiping away the tears that had betrayed him. “I’ll give you anything—just—please, Cas” Sam stood there for what felt like forever.

It didn’t take long for him to realize the cavalry wasn’t coming in. He wiped away his tears once more, nodding his head as if he accepted the angel’s silent answer. Sam walked into the cabin to join his brother again; as if nothing had happened at all.

Castiel couldn’t move, not anymore; he was numb.

This is what Dean wanted wasn’t it? To never see Castiel’s face again. The angel hated it so much that he resented the hunter, but he did.

He would never again get to see Dean’s eyes light up as he dragged his gaze across Castiel, silently memorizing the angel’s every feature. He would never again feel the hot press of Dean’s hand on his shoulder, steadying him whenever the angel wavered, which he did so often. All these moments, and all of them empty and hollow lying out in front of Castiel.

The angel could never before say that he had experienced hate, but in this moment, the angel hated himself with every fiber in his soulless body.

 

                                                                                                                                                            

* * *

 

 

Castiel stood in the darkness as Sam silently got into the Impala, and left the small cabin, no doubt replenishing his diminishing supplies. What for, he thought to himself, it’s not like either of the boys ate much of anything these days.

The angel finally peeled himself from his spot among the stars, and appeared into the hunter’s small room. Dean was sleeping silently, his features calm tonight, a notion that slightly reassured the angel.

Castiel approached Dean’s bed, running his fingers across the tossed sheets. He hovered over Dean’s palm; wanting with everything he had to curl his fingers around the hunter’s hand and to draw small circles along his knuckles. He refrained of course, knowing that he would awaken the man’s peaceful sleep; something Dean didn’t get often.

Dean opened his eyes suddenly, looking around the room wide-eyed and alert. Castiel stilled, silently praying that he hadn’t disturbed him. Dean struggled to sit up in bed and turn on the small light next to him. The room was suddenly filled with light, making the young man squint and whimper in pain.

The room was completely empty, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sammy” Dean called out; his voice was course and strained. He was alone. “Thank God” Dean muttered to himself.

He loved his brother dearly, but couldn’t a guy get a little space every once in a while? Sammy was constantly hovering over him, making Dean slightly sick of the ever-watchful presence of his younger brother. The silence spread out in front of the man; a little too tense for his liking.

Dean felt like absolute shit, a feeling that he had slightly gotten used to over the course of the past 12 days.

 _Death_ ; he worked the word through his mind for a moment, almost flirting with it.

Dean was sick; there was no running from it now. He laid there in his bed, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and stale bottles of beer, and something that appeared to be a mixture of onion rings and a milkshake. This probably would’ve bothered Dean on a normal day, but death will do that to a man.

Now was the time to get this over with, Dean thought to himself silently. His health wasn’t getting any better; a fleeting thought that made Dean chuckled to himself.

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want to see Castiel; he did in fact, with everything thing he had.

In the end Dean just didn’t want to beg; he didn’t want Sam to beg. He didn’t want to beg for his life; not this life. He knew that it would come down to that. He knew that the moment he let Sam call the angel to him, he would try and give him everything he had to save Dean’s tattered soul.

Death scared Dean, hell, it terrified him; it was a shadow that was constantly looming over the young man, ready to pounce at any moment. Truth be told, Dean was just done; plain and simple.

Dean Winchester was tired. He had given his entire life-countless years of begging and fighting for something better, something more than this, but in the end, this was all he would ever have. This was Dean’s grand prize for all that he had done. He was wasting away in this tiny room, losing everything that had ever been important to him, but then again, hadn’t he already lost everything anyway?

He was sure that Sammy thought Dean was passive on the whole subject of death, but in reality, Dean was livid. He didn’t deserve this—he didn’t deserve to die in this shitty cabin, hell, Dean didn’t deserve to die at all. He was so angry sometimes that it seemed to drown out the headaches, and dizziness, and the fatigue, and hell, sometimes Dean was so angry that it even seemed to muffle out death’s tight grip on his brittle shoulders.

He let the soundless moments stretch out before him for an immeasurable amount of time. Dean didn’t know what had caused him to feel this way; maybe it was the slight buzz for the pain meds he was on, or the fact that his mind was deteriorating slowly inside of his skull, or maybe it was simple and pure; he missed his angel.

Dean would’ve never admitted it to Sam, but honestly, Castiel had been on the young man’s mind most of these 2 weeks. Sure, he jumped on Sam the moment he mentioned the angel’s name, and he wouldn’t actually admit to it, but Dean wanted him here.

Dean wanted Castiel close.

Dean closed his eyes tightly, just like he had thousands of times before, and rehearsed what he wanted to say for a moment.

The room was quiet except for the sound of the heater humming silently in the background.

“Cas” Dean breathed. He opened his eyes then, peering around the room; expecting to see Castiel standing over him.

Silence.

“Come on Cas, I need you” he whispered closing his eyes tighter, causing his head to hurt as he did so.

The silence was broken with the sound of wings suddenly filling the room.

 

                                                                                                                                                        

* * *

 

 

Castiel stood close to Dean’s bedside; just where he had been moments ago.

The words echoed in the angel’s mind.

_I need you_

Did he? Castiel thought to himself; did he really need him here?

Dean had jumped back slightly in his bed when Castiel appeared before him, no doubt startled by the closeness of the angel’s sudden presence.

“Dam” Dean muttered “Well, aren’t you Mr. Light on your feet tonight” a small smile breaking through the veil of pain pressed against Dean’s dark face.

“Hey Cas” he breathed.

“Oh, Dean” was all the angel could really get out before he was crashing into this man.

Castiel pressed his face against Dean’s neck and breathed him in; a move that stilled the hunter beneath his grasp.

“Dean—Dean—” he kept repeating over and over. Truth be told; it was the only word the angel could manage to grit out.

Castiel could feel a warm smile break across the hunter’s face.

“Come here so I can get a good look at you” the hunter said, directing the angels face in front of his; so close the angel could feel his breath. Dean looked practically the same as he had before earlier in the evening; except for a chilled sweat that had broken across the hunter’s forehead, no doubt a fever.

“Well look at you” Dean chuckled “Goddammit, you look the same!”

Castiel looked away “We aren’t here to talk about my physical appearance, Dean” the angel said tightly, once again distencing himself from the hunter, not wanting to get too close to somehting so fragile.

“I guess not” Dean said, all humor escaping his voice.

“Why did you call upon me?” Castiel asked, still keeping his eyes downcast, preferring not to stare into Dean’s hollow face.

“Why the hell were you creeping over my bed?” Dean asked quizzically. Castiel opened his mouth as if he meant to say something, but closed it. “Ah, don’t lie to me bird brain. I could feel you the whole time” Castiel allowed himself a quick smile at the insult Dean had tossed his direction; he missed this.

“Oh really?” the angel pressed.

“Hell yeah I could, you were practically breathing down my neck! Anyway, I can barely see anymore—so—ya know, everything else is heightened—”

Castiel hadn’t even realized Dean was going blind, but it made sense with the quickness that his illness was progressing.

“I wasn’t trying to ‘creep’ as you so eloquently put it; I was merely checking up on you” the angel said defensively.

“Hey, hey” Dean started, “Unruffle those feathers; I’m just teasing you” Dean shot Castiel one of those brilliant smiles. The kind that crease Dean’s forehead and make his eyes squint at the edges; his eyes gleamed. Castiel loved that smile.

“So” Dean began, making the situation slightly awkward for Castiel.

The angel sat on the edge of the bed, with Dean propped up on his pillows.

“I’m sure you’ve gotten the 411” he said, as he swiftly gestured to himself.

“Yes” Castiel said grimly, despair leaking into the edge of his voice.

“Yeah” Dean said “The feelings mutual”.

“Why am I here, Dean?” the angel asked, silently waiting for an answer.

“I need you” Dean said, finalizing it. “I’m not going to make a recovery, and with all bitterness aside Cas—I just—really want you here with me” He looked at Castiel then; although the angel wasn’t sure he could see it, he still flashed him a brilliant smile.

“I mean—” Dean stuttered, no doubt embarrassed about what he said “I don’t want me telling you to leave, being the last thing I ever said to you”.

The angel hated hearing it from Dean’s mouth; Dean talking about death like it was absolute. It was though; absolute, there was nothing the angel could do but watch Dean deteriorate before his very eyes.

“But you said—” the angel began.

“I know what I said” Dean said, cutting the angel off mid-sentence “And I don’t care Cas. I don’t give a flying-rip about any of it to be honest” he stopped suddenly, having difficultly forming the words in his mind. _Aphasia_.

“You’re all I have left honestly, besides Sammy” he said turning towards the door, expecting to see his brother standing there.

“Just—stay.” He said simply, settling it for the angel. “Okay”, the angel breathed.

He stayed.

 

                                                                                                                                                      

* * *

 

 

Sam finally pulled into the parking lot of the small gas station down the way. Luckily it was open 24 hours a day, making it easy to leave while Dean slept to pick up supplies; not wasting one moment with his brother.

Sam lingered in the Impala for a moment, trying to push out the thoughts running through his mind. He was exhausted. Sleep eluded the young man; his nights filled with the dull glare of a computer screen. He had to try, he thought, he had to save Dean because frankly, he couldn’t live without him.

He moped around the gas station, completing at least three laps while he tried to decide which pie Dean would like the most, but instead deciding at the last minute to give up and purchase both. He walked out into the night again, enjoying the fresh air. He needed this; needed a break. It would all be over soon; too soon in fact.

The moment Sam pulled up to the small cabin, he knew something was off. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but a feeling that he didn’t recognize. Sam’s hand gripped his gun in his pocket instinctively as he crept out of the car towards the cabin; readying himself.

The sound of wings behind him practically had Sam leaping out of skin; sending pie and bananas flying everywhere. “Sonofabitch!” was the only phrase Sam could manage.

Castiel was there suddenly, behind Sam. He didn’t want to scare the young man, just wanted to make his presence know.

“Sam” Castiel said tightly, as he bent to pick up the food off of the ground.

“What the hell!” the man hissed, snatching the food out of the angels hands. Sam glared at Castiel; a look that cut through him like a knife, splitting the angel open.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam asked viciously, his face twisting into a grimace.

“Dean—” the angel began

“Get out of here” Sam growled, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t want you here” he repeated.

“Dean called upon me, Sam. He wanted me here” the angel looked back at the house, counting the moments until he could get back to his hunter.

“Oh” Sam breathed “So—when Dean wants you here” he began, a look of disbelief spreading across his face “You’ll come for him when he calls.”.

“Sam—”

“No!” Sam spat in the angels face, making him recoil “I’ve prayed to you Castiel. Almost every goddamned night, and you gave me nothing!”

Castiel knew, of course, he always knew.

Some nights the young hunter’s prayers would snake around the angel, ripping him apart. They always started off small and child-like, innocent in fact, but ending with selfish want and need; begging for his brother’s life.

“You always give me nothing, Cas” Sam whispered.

He was hurt; Castiel could see it written over the young man’s face.

“I know, Sam” he said, steadying himself “I’ve heard you, but you must understand” he pleaded “Understand that I couldn’t be here, because that’s not what Dean wanted. I’ve been here—” he said gesturing towards the house “I’ve been here the whole time, but I—I just couldn’t—not with Dean—” he bit the sentence off at the end, not wanting to finish it.

Sam took a deep breath then, trying to calm his nerves. It was difficult for the hunter; calming himself. This was Dean they were talking about; the only person that mattered to him.

“Can you save him” Sam asked.

So this was it, Castiel thought, this was the big question. Castiel could’ve spent an eternity running from that question.

“No” the angel murmured, realizing what he said before he could stop it. Panic rose up in the angel “I’m so sorry, Sam—” he whispered.

“No you’re not” Sam hissed at him “You’re a coward. How dare you show your face around here. He needs you Cas, and you’re just going to let him wither away in there, aren’t you? Do you see him?!” he screamed at Castiel; the angel backing away slowly “How dare you” he repeated, shaking his head.

Castiel was broken.

“I can’t Sam!” he screamed back at the hunter, making him shrink back as well “I’m not an angel anymore!” he could feel the heat rising in him now “I would never wish this upon anyone, especially you and Dean” he said, turning away.

“Cas—” Sam said, reaching out towards Castiel. “I didn’t—” he stopped, drawing his hand to his side “It’s just—seeing him like this” he paused, turning away “it’s killing me”.

Castiel looked at Sam; really looked at him. His hair was a mess, and there was no telling when the last time he showered was. His clothes were wrinkled and pressed; almost as if he’d been wrapped around his brother half the day. It sickened the angel to see Sam like this.

Tears began to slowly fall down the hunters face as he stood there frozen. Castiel moved in, wrapping his arms around the hunter and holding him there. He sobbed into the angel’s neck, unable to hold it in any longer.

Castiel didn’t mind the tear-soaked trenchcoat; he understood. Sometimes, everybody needs time to let go. Castiel didn’t want to let Dean go, and hell, neither did Sam.

After some time, they headed back inside; never properly addressing what had just happened, but silently agreeing to never speak of it in front of Dean.

Never letting their emotions to slip in front of the dying man.

 

                                                                                                                                                            

* * *

 

 

They spent their time huddled in the small cabin, secretively counting down the days.

It had been almost three weeks, and Dean was appearing to do well. His sight remained intact; which seemed to bring a calming presence over the three men. And he was finally able to keep food down; even though he would only eat a mixture of apple pie and Pringles. He maintained a healthy—well balanced diet.

The remainder of their days were filled with bad day-time television and blankets curled around the three of them. They had built up a fortress, and Castiel secretly treasured it.

Nights were much more difficult, however.  

It wasn’t the sleep that bothered Castiel; it was the dreaming.

Dean would lie there, drenched in sweat; reaching out to some unknown being, grasping at thin air.

Castiel would lie to Sam; telling him that Dean slept soundly. At least then the tired man would sleep himself; which he needed.

He would watch over Dean mostly, sometimes crawling into bed with him; wrapping him into his arms and chasing away the nightmares.

Dean would lean into the touch; laying his head on the angels chest while he slept.

It would be a lie to say that Castiel didn’t enjoy this, but how could he enjoy this withering body pressed against him?

He was impossibly cold, and he shook violently most nights; racked with nightmares.

Castiel would silently pray that it would end soon.

It would, he thought, it would all end very soon.

 

                                                                                                                                                        

* * *

 

 

It was getting so close. Castiel knew it, and he figured that Sam did as well; he spent the majority of his time busying himself with different ‘odd-jobs’ around the small house. Preparing.

Dean sat up, after a brief rest. It was 2 o’clock in the morning.

“Castiel” he said hoarsely “I want to go outside” he ordered; it was more of a demand then a statement.  Castiel had only nodded in reply, figuring it better to give-in than bicker with the young man.  

Sam had objected though, stating that Dean was too weak, but Castiel could handle it; he was in-fact a former angel of the Lord.

Castiel reached down and scooped Dean out of his cocoon of pillows and blankets.

“Aw” Dean scoffed, laughing a bit "My prince charming” winking at the angel as he did so. Castiel rolled his eyes, trying to hold back the pink slowly creeping across his face.

It was warm outside, Castiel thought as he kicked open the front door of the tiny cabin, the wind blew slightly, cooling Dean’s sweat-gleamed skin.  Castiel wandered a ways from the house, making sure that he would be able to get back to it in an instant, if the occasion arose. He held Dean up, wrapping his arms around the man’s brittle body.

Dean struggled to hold himself upright, occasionally whimpering in pain. Castiel had offered to take him back to the cabin, but Dean insisted they continue.

When they finally reached their destination; Castiel lightly settled Dean onto the stump of a tree, allowing him to lean most of his weight on the angel. Dean sat in the dark woods for hours, staring up at the stars. Castiel wasn’t sure if Dean could completely see them, but the hunter sat there anyway; unquestionably content.  Dean was grinning ear to ear, the kind of smile that could shatter the angel’s heart into a million pieces.

Castiel sat there in the silence, watching as Dean looked up, memorizing the stars as if he planned to take them with him when he died.

While Dean memorized the stars; Castiel took time to memorize the hunter himself; realizing that if he was to die soon, this is what he would want to take with him.

He was beautiful, absolutely breathtaking, really. The dramatic curve of the man’s jaw, his green eyes that seemed to reflect the entire night’s sky as he looked up into it. Castiel silently counted each of the man’s freckles that played across his face. These were the things the angel wanted to keep close to him; the things he would remember Dean by for all of eternity.

That was something the angel didn’t want to think about. An eternity without Dean Winchester in it.

“Cas” the hunter spoke silently, his voice barely above a whisper. He slumped slightly, as if he couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

“Dean?” the angel turned towards Dean in a frenzy, expecting the worst.

Dean pressed his face into the angels hair “I can’t see—” he whispered, his voice trembling as he spoke. Castiel stiffened

“We should go back” the angel whispers back. “Just a little longer” Dean says. He reaches out then, grabbing the angels hand and squeezing. Castiel intertwines his fingers with the hunter’s, holding him tightly.

He looks over, noticing the tears silently streaming down the young man’s face. Terror written briefly in Dean’s eyes; the angel could feel him trembling as he held him there.

“Just a little longer” the angel breathes into Dean’s hair.

 

                                                                                                                                                               

* * *

 

 

Things go from bad to worse in a matter of days. Castiel doesn’t feel much of it though; he is numb.

It’ll all be over soon, he repeats to himself; wishing that the false hope would somehow relive him. It doesn’t.

Dean is barely conscious most of the time, and he’s stopped eating completely.

It’s been 25 days.

 

                                                                                                                                                               

* * *

 

 

Sam and Castiel take turns holding Dean close; silently praying that it will be over.

Always silently praying.

They both move about the house soundlessly, much like ghosts, Castiel would imagine.

They don’t feel much of anything anymore.

It’s so close now; Castiel can practically feel death breathing down the young man’s neck.

It’s been 27 days.

 

                                                                                                                                                               

* * *

 

 

Dean Winchester dies on a Sunday

The rain is practically silent against the rooftop of their tiny cabin.

Sam is silent most of the time, holding his older brother close to him.

This isn’t a good day, Castiel thinks. He should be getting used to the feeling though; he’s not sure if he’ll ever have a good day again.

Dean is awake, if you could call it that. He’s talking a little, mostly about random things that make no sense; like the play his brother was in all those years ago when he was a child.  Their silent rides in the Impala, and mullet-rock always being played too loudly for Sam to properly sleep.  The memories are bitter, but they make Sam smile anyway-even if it's the sadest smile Castiel has ever seen.  

Dean also speaks of his mother; talks about her soft blonde hair, the freckles that wound around her pale face, and her sad eyes. It pains Castiel to listen, but he has too.

Dean is getting so close.

This is it, the angel thinks, these are his last moments with Dean.

Sam left the two of them alone; allowing Castiel the chance to properly say goodbye to his old friend.

Dean leans into the angel’s chest, softly whimpering as another headache rolls through him. Dean was frightened.

“Shhhh” the angel soothes him, trying to take away some of the pain and fear.

The angel knew that Dean couldn’t really speak, but he could still hear, so the angel spent most of his time talking about things that once were; things that would never be again.

Castiel spoke of all the times they had laughed, and all the times that they had cried, and all the small glances and touches they secretly shared.

The angel also spoke of heaven, and what Dean could expect from it. Castiel imagined that Dean’s heaven would be filled with pie and scantily dressed women, or it would be filled with his brother; the two of them crossing the countryside, singing oldies and eating at suspicious diners. Whatever the case, Castiel knew it would be better than this.

They sat there for hours in the same position; curling into each other’s touches, livings off one another’s warmth.

Dean began to get more and more restless, breathing heavy and reaching out into thin air.

“Dean” Castiel fought to maintain his composure, something that shouldn’t be difficult for him to do. “It’s okay, I’ve got you” he whipered, burying his face into Dean’s hair, the scent filling his breathless lungs.

Sam came into the room then, nudging at Castiel’s arms.

This was it.

He wasn't ready-the angel wasn't ready for this to be over yet.  

Castiel became frantic, tightening his grip on Dean's shoulder, threatening to lose control at any moment

"Please" Castiel mumbled into Dean's hair, trying desperately to gather as much of the hunter as he could.  He knew he was being selfish-holding onto Dean as long as he could bear it, but he just simply couldn't let Dean go quite yet.

“Cas” Sam’s voice sounded so quiet against the ringing that was in the angel’s ears.

"Please-no" he murmured, his breath hitching

Sam laid a hand on Castiel's shoulders, not really urging him to get up, but instead, comforting him.  Sam knew this was difficult for him-knew it was hard for Castiel to let go of the one thing-the one person that Castiel had ever really loved.  

It was time to let go.

The angel willed himself up from the bed, uncurling himself from around the hunter.

Before he left, he bent down, hovering over the dying man’s pale, featureless face.

He kissed him once, on his thin, frail cheek.

That’s all he allowed himself: one kiss.

Castiel took flight then; leaving his two friends alone to say their final goodbyes.

 

                                                                                                                                                      

* * *

 

 

The angel wasn’t gone long, only a couple seconds really. Sam didn’t know he was there, of course, he didn’t want to take this from them.

Sam lies beside his brother, facing him and smoothing his sweaty hair with the palm of his hand. They’re skating on the edge. Dean is slowly drifting off.

He fights it; his breath is shaky and course, rattling in his chest.

“It’s okay” Sam says, gathering his brother in the crook of his arm.  Dean’s fragile body fits nicely there, as if this was how it was meant to be.

The hunter is biting back his tears, and failing miserably.

“It’s okay, Dean. I’m here”. Dean panics, his arms reaching out at nothing.

“Dean—you’re doing so good. So good—” Sam trails off, trying to find his voice. He doesn’t, and the tears come harder.

Sam tries to find something, anything to tell his brother to comfort him.

It comes to him in an instant.

“It’s okay, Dean” he hushes “Remember—remember mom, Dean? She used to—sing you to sleep” the angel had never heard his voice so small.

“Hey Jude—” he begins to sing, just as their mother had so many times before.

She would cradle Dean, holding him close to her chest; rocking him as he cooed up at her. Her hands drawing small circles into his light blonde hair. Dean had sung it to Sammy before on countless occasions. When their father hadn’t returned for days, and Sam was nervous; Dean would hold his young brother close and whisper the melody into his ear.

Singing Sammy to sleep—now it was his turn

“Don’t make it bad. Take a sad song, and make it better” Dean jerked suddenly, hands reaching out at nothing. His breath quickened. Sam tightened his grip.

He tried to clear his tears away, but couldn’t.

“Then you can start—start to make it better” he kept singing, tears rushing down his face, blurring his vision.

“Hey Jude—don’t—don’t be afraid” Sam stuttered, losing himself. Everything was crashing around the young man. Every moment that his older brother and him had shared, laying out before them.

“The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better” Dean sucked in a shallow breath, it hitched.

“And anytime you feel the—the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders” he broke off, his voice being swallowed by his shallow sobs.

He had to be brave for Dean; the bravest he’d ever been in his life.

He could feel Dean’s heartbeat slow as he held him close-pressed tightly against his chest.

Sam hung his gaze at the wall, never losing sight of it.

“Hey Jude” he whispered. Dean sucked in one final breath, and it churned in his chest, hanging there before nothing came out. Dean began to move about the bed, thrashing out, terror over-taking him.

“Dean—” Sam whispered “Dean, it’s okay. You don’t have to hold on anymore” Sam pressed his face into his brother’s forehead as Dean began to slack in his arms.

Sam shook his head, shaking tears from his eyes

“Hey Jude” he sang louder, straining for Dean to hear.

Dean had to hear him singing.

“Don’t make it—don’t make it bad”.

Sam was trying to remember the words for Dean. He couldn’t.

“It’s okay, Dean” he soothed “I’ll remember—I’ll remember it for you, Dean. Dean?” he rocked his brother then, fully letting go.

“Oh God, Dean” he couldn’t stop crying, tears falling into Dean’s hair.

“I’m so sorry” he whimpered.

"Oh God, Dean-please-God no-" he sobbed into his brother's blonde hair, tears streaking arcoss his face.  

Angels didn’t really cry—not really, but here, watching Sam rock Dean so tenderly in his arms—watching Sam lose the only thing that ever mattered to him, Castiel would’ve cried.

He would’ve felt the tears burn the corners of his eyes.

He would’ve felt his gut wrench in agony over the sweet loss he just suffered, but Castiel was an angel—and angels don’t feel a thing.

Castiel was there suddenly, laying a hand on Sam. He flinched away from him.

“Leave me” Sam said.

“Sam” Castiel said, his voice low.

Sam's head instinctively moved towards the sound of his voice, but his eyes stayed fixed in one spot.

“It’s time to let go” he said to Sam.

It was over.

The angel feels nothing.

 

                                                                                                                                                        

* * *

 

 

Dean’s funeral was nothing special. Just a private ceremony with Sam in a lonely cemetery in Lawrence, Kansas.

This was where Dean belonged, right next to his mother for all of eternity. His headstone sparkled in the sunlight, Castiel thought, Dean’s name carved beautifully into it.

Sam stood stone still, as if he felt nothing at all.

Castiel stood close to Sam, holding his hand as the priest spoke.

He spoke kind words about Dean, like an old friend might, except he knew nothing at all about Dean and his life.

All the countless people the young man had touched—the countless people the young man had saved.

They stood at the grave site long after it was over, lingering as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Sam swallowed “Come on” he said, turning away from his brother one last time.

Sam and Castiel sat in the Impala for some time, not speaking, barely even breathing.

“You could stay” the angel heard Sam say “You could stay here”

Castiel sat there for a moment, considering the young man’s suggestion.

“Stay” he repeated after the hunter. “I don’t—I don’t think I can” the angel said; sealing the deal between the two of them.

“Yeah” Sam laughed; a cold and cruel laugh “I don’t think I can either—”

 

                                                                                                                                                           

* * *

 

 

Castiel visited Sam as often as he could, after Dean’s death.

They talked briefly when he did, never allowing the conversation to go too far. They would always hug afterwards, a feeling of tightness spreading over them.

Sam would smile; a smile so hollow and empty that Castiel would shudder with the thought of it.

He watched over the younger Winchester often, sometimes even working a case or two with him. Afterwards, they would sit in a cheap diner and talk about Dean. His name always seemed to leave a bitter taste in the angel’s mouth.

The angel takes flight most days; never staying in one place for too long.

Soaring.

Knowing that this was his connection to Dean.

Sometimes when the angel closed his eyes tight enough he could almost see Dean.

If Castiel flew fast enough, maybe he would meet Dean’s stride, and they would soar together.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the angst and the feelings! Cheers I suppose!


End file.
